Rise of the UnderDark
by DragonflyxParodies
Summary: The shadows, the forgotten and the nightmares. Things of stories and uneasy dreams. Long have they lain in wait-now they will rise. Demons of the past and monsters of the future will hunt those who are anything but Heroes to the end of the world. Yet still, the prey will once again become the predator. *Sorry if this gives nightmares, as it freaked my sister out*
1. Intro: Rhordric

Night had fallen abruptly upon the city of Windhelm, snuffing out lights and muffling sound. Thick waves of fog rolled in over the sturdy stone walls, invading homes with their damp, chilled fingers. The night was dark, both of the moons black, and only the bravest stars dared to shed a dull silver glow. Silence stole into everything. Rambunctious children went quiet and slipped beneath their covers. Elderly lungs that rattled loudly with fragility and the weight of age hushed their chuckles or stopped altogether. Guards, rather than patrol the wintery darkness, huddled together in the barracks. Torches, left unattended and at the mercy of the wind, died. In a murky corner, fingers rasped against icy stone. A soft exhale sent the fog dancing in delight, and as a black and scarlet clad figure began striding down a road long since claimed by grey, it followed him in looping swirls. He made little sound as he strode through the halls of grey-white silk, and what he did was brushed off as fancy, windows tightened and locks checked. A blade, too short to be a sword but too long to be a knife, kissed the air at his hip. Shapes occasionally materialized out of the fog, indistinct and shadowy blobs hurrying about their business. They were the beggars, the hunted, the thieves. None saw him-and all the better for them.

He left no survivors.

He entered the richer districts of Windhelm, populated with large mansions with gates twined with hanging moss and exotic flowers, each grander than the next. The owner's rivalry mattered little when the fog made all homes, no matter how large or small, a faint splotch of discolored grey. He cared nothing for the riches that would be lying within the unguarded doors, even the ones the Thieves Guild had taken the time to etch their marks into. He was intent upon one house, and one house alone. Murmuring a soft spell, he stopped at the gate of a smaller, but just as expensive mansion. A tiny flicker of light flared into existence, pulsing off of the fog and blinding him. Closing his eyes, his fingers danced across the lock on the door. Seconds later the orb of light vanished, and the lock popped open. He'd left no traces of his deed on the metal gate. Not a soul remained awake to illuminate a window, and a quiet sigh of displeasure escaped him. _No one made it interesting…_

The kill would be nothing to one of his talents.

He faced nothing but the disappointment of the fog as he popped the lock on the manor's door and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him. In cases like these, he would normally be worried he had brought the chill in with him-but it was just as cold outside as it was within the building. He made his way up a curved wooden staircase, not a solitary creak escaping the wooden boards. He knew exactly where his victim lay, and made no detours as he padded down a hallway, floorboards smooth with ages of feet walking upon its knotted surface. He'd learned long ago to seek out only that which was essential to his mission. To explore led to being discovered.

And he would never tarnish the reputation of the Dark Brotherhood.

The door made no sound as he swung it open, and he drew the odd blade at his side, a dark smile lifting lips shrouded by a deep cowl. The room was finely furnished, expensive trinkets that served no purpose other than to be costly gathered like dust on shelves and tables. His victim lay asleep in a four-poster bed, traditional gauzy curtains hanging limply around the motionless body. A book lay open next to his victim's hand, and a brief glance at it had him stifling a chuckle. It was one of the pathetic romance novels both he and his Sister, the Listener, hated. Disgust flooded him. He prayed to Sithis his victim wouldn't wake. He wanted nothing to do with her petty daydreams-and he could practically hear the Listener laughing that he, Rhordric, had entertained a little girl's fantasy. He pushed a fistful of curtain aside harshly, and his blade whistled faintly as it headed for her heart. Her eyes flickered open just as his blade shattered her flesh, and her body jerked upward. No sound escaped her lips but a faint sigh, and she went still for the last time. He wiped his blade clean on the curtains, and left the way he came. The only sign he had been there was the gate, left swinging freely on its hinges, and the blood staining his victim's mattress. The fog rushed him as he stepped out of the quiet building, swallowing his figure completely.

It was time all of Skyrim knew the Dark Brotherhood was back.


	2. Intro: Xoatholin

In all his fifty years of existence, he had never once felt the undeniable warmth of a molten orb upon his flesh. He had never seen a sky, or tasted air perfumed with the scent of earth after a rain. He had never beheld the beauty of the stars scattered across a dark blanket, or watched in awe as the Spirit Lights twined around one another above his head.

But he had heard of it.

Aphra would spin pictures out of the darkness around them, telling him about how, when the sky was cloudy, the sun would push through and force its glow through the thin edges of them. She told him of cold winds that tore through the mountainous region above them, of fields of 'snow' that covered the ground at all times. She would tell him of vast expanses of water that stretched out past the horizon, of floating chunks of frozen water.

Although he knew she was truly content so far beneath the surface, a faint trace of longing would lace her voice.

It had always inspired a sense of wonder in him. What could be so wonderful, so different and strange, that it would make even Aphra wish for it? She was a quiet, solemn Bosmer-and she loved their subterranean world of glowing blues and greens. The black rock and golden alloys of ancient Dwemer ruins were home to her, just as much as they were home to him. The rivers glowing a soft blue and the otherworldly echo of scarlet plants were part of her, as they were part of him.

It had come as a shock to realize he desired to leave as well.

So, despite the rage blossoming in his chest as he _fled_, he knew he wasn't as furious as he could have been. The Dwemer Ruins had suddenly come to life, Blackreach lit with strange light and foreign sound.

The Dwarves had awakened.

In moments, the Falmer had been chased out of Blackreach, Chaurus and other unsavory creatures slaughtered and bodies disposed of. The Dwarven mechanisms had then turned their attention to him-and Aphra.

She clung to him, face buried in his leathery skin as he rocketed through the twisting halls of a Dwemer ruin, wings tight against his body until he came into an open space. Behind him, something _big_ was after them.

He'd kill every last breathing being in Blackreach if they so much as singed a hair on Aphra's head.

"Xoatholin, I remember this place-" Aphra's tone was sharp, urgent.

"You know how to get to the surface?" He regretted speaking-his voice was too quiet to be heard. But Aphra nodded against his back.

"Left, then up." He was beginning to tire, he realized, as he sharply turned to obey Aphra. He barely missed slamming into the wall, long talons gouging out long strips into the halls. But he didn't falter in his pace. He couldn't see anything but vague blurry shapes, but up ahead, he could see a bright light. Aphra's gentle pressure on his back, the heat pressing against the tip of his tail, urged him on. He ducked his head and _slammed_ into a pair of massive double doors, both made of a strong Dwemer alloy.

They burst open, and a light more intense than anything he'd ever known shattered him.

**-Thanks for all the reviews ^^ I appreciate them!- **


	3. Intro: Verdin

The peak rose out of the barren, mountainous landscape of the Reach to touch the sky. It would have been indistinguishable from the other mountains around, as it too wistfully desired to be ever taller, but for the cloak it wore. Cast upon its slopes was a patchwork blanket of plant life. Juniper groves stretched in ringlets around its surface, the space in between flooded with hardy bushes and resistant flowers. Reveling in its own power and freedom, a river raced around one side of the mountain. A road slipped meekly through the fertile area, shifting into a large, sturdy stone bridge atop the river. Spriggans ran across its surface, playing in the thick vegetation. Animals followed, green magic blinding their senses and killing their instincts. Predators lay beside prey, the hunted beside the hunters.

He was no exception.

The Spriggans' unchallenged power over the wildlife did not extend to him, as it had once done. Instead their magic simply healed, invigorated him, prepared him for what was to come. The thrill of an impending hunt coursed through his veins. It was a struggle to remain still and not disturb the fox lying beside him. He took joy in precious little, but hunting was one of those. He reveled in the chase, of the capture, and absolute perfection of the Feast. Anticipation made his mouth water, as did the scent drifting on a cool breeze.

Prey was coming.

The Spriggans were just as excited as he was, their games growing quicker and more violent. Bears began to fall dead of exhaustion, rabbits collapsing. Bird song grew shrill and quick, fear and panic battling for supremacy in their sound. All of the wild anticipated his hunt.

He had never understood the connection between nature and Namira. Once, Eola had tried to explain. She had said that, as they killed to feed, rather than for the sake of violence, they were accepted by nature. Nature respected them because they did not waste life, and they did not harm nature.

Or something like that. He'd never been the best at paying attention.

The prey's scent was tantalizingly close. He stood, and slipped through a thick group of Juniper trees, emerging onto the road. A growl of annoyance from the fox he had disturbed followed him. Across the stretch of old, worn cobblestone, other figures emerged as well. He absently rubbed the ring on his right hand, its unnatural heat comforting. An Imperial was headed towards them, completely oblivious. A smile lifted his lips, his unnaturally sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight as he stepped out of the trees' shadow and onto the path. The Imperial stopped in surprise. A farmer, by the looks of her. The only weapon she had was a small dagger at her hip-probably iron.

"I don't have anything valuable." She said, eyes wary, fearful. His smile threatened to grow.

"I'm not after your gold." The girl took a step back, eyes widening as her arms flew to cover her chest-

_Damn Eola to Oblivion!_ Just because the Priestess had preferred to use the Feasts for pleasure first didn't mean he did! The idea revolted him-_she_ was the only one allowed to touch him like that. Muttering an oath he wasn't supposed to repeat in front of the others, he lunged. She bolted-and for a moment his irritation abated, for a second he forgot his frustration. He abandoned it all to the glory of the hunt-

-and then _damn it all_, S'rai was at his side. The Argonian child enjoyed the hunt just as much as he did-but S'rai was a _child_. He refused to let her see him-or any of them-give into bloodlust. Repeating another oath she wasn't supposed to hear, he swung the child up over his shoulder and motioned for the others to continue. S'rai cried out and flailed, but he simply readjusted his grip.

"VERDIN!" She shouted-but a sharp scream from farther down the road drowned her out. Ignoring her, he slowed his pace down and continued at a stroll.

"Verdin! Put me down!" She was furious, he realized with faint amusement. She never called him by his name unless she was ready to kill him.

"No." He said flatly, coming out at the top of a small valley. Thick with wild scrubs and creeping vines, he had to lift his legs high to not trip as he navigated the plant life. Visible beneath the shadows of the plants were skulls, and the stench of death permeated the air here. Unless the Feast was special, they always ate here.

"Verdin!" S'rai's shrill voice squealed again. He glanced at her, and unceremoniously set her down. She scowled at him, tail flicking back and forth angrily. He ignored her look.

"I'm coming with S'rai!" He shouted, and heard a faint groan from up ahead. By the time he'd made it to the center of the pretend valley, the others had torn the Feast's throat out, and looked impatient. They were the few that remained at the Haven all the time, as the Haven was their only home. The others traveled occasionally from Markarth for Namira's Sacred Day.

They numbered five. S'rai, the youngest at seven. She had been found a few years ago on the side of the main road, beside a body, mouth bloody, and had been since raised by them. Emry was a year younger than him, an Imperial of noble birth. She had fled her family in Windhelm after she had tasted the flesh of a close friend. Haril was a Dark Elf mage that did not socialize much, and was well older than they were. An adult, he had been there before Verdin had come. Erikk hailed from Rorikstead, a young man who had been toughened by years of fighting. He protected the 'family' while Verdin was gone.

And then there was him. He had arrived three years ago, barely able to talk. Eola had trained him to become the next Head Priest after her, but none had foreseen Namira's interest in him, turning him into her Champion. He led the Haven-but it was clear to all that he wanted to be elsewhere, that something called to him.

He idly wondered how they would react to wake with him gone in the morning. He'd stalled as long as he could without going insane-he _had_ to find her.

"Can we eat, Verdin?" Emry's voice snapped him to attention, and he studied her for a second.

"Yes…" S'rai squealed with delight and tackled the corpse before he could stop her.

Eola had told him once that he would grow to miss the Haven if he was away from it, but at the thought of leaving now, the only pang he felt was one of regret that he was not leaving sooner.

Maybe…he was going to _go_ home. To her.

Abandoning the complex and agitating thoughts, he turned his attention to the Fear, and the heat consuming the finger Namira's Ring rested upon.


	4. Intro: Cloud

In all of the glamour and lavish décor of the Thieves Guild controlled prison of Riften, there was a door, hidden beneath a cupboard. That door led to a dark, dank passage that opened up into a part of the jail complex that never saw the sunlight. It contained a fairly clean room filled with torture devices that had long ago been banned from Skyrim, poisons and other unhealthy paraphernalia scattered around on tables and shelves. A long, dark tunnel stretched off the main room, filthy jail cells flanking either side of it.

He constantly painted this mental map of the small complex in his head. If he were to escape any time soon, he needed to know exactly where to go.

A metal-shod foot came down on his hand, crushing the bones in his slender fingers. Vex had once told him they were perfect for lock-picking.

Apparently, not anymore.

The heel of the foot pressed into his palm, and despite the blood dribbling down his chin, Cloud managed a grin.

He'd never tell the bastards where the Guild was.

He had no idea how they'd nabbed him. He just remembered playing unconscious as they carried him into this gods-forsaken pit. They'd tried to strip him of all his dignity-he had nothing but the skin on his back to cover him. But in all honesty? It wasn't cold down here, so he didn't really care.

He was just glad they hadn't raped him yet. It was a well-known fact Riften Guards would torture any thief they caught, and since Olrik had became Captain of the Guard, they'd begun going to the extremes. Sapphire had been contemplating calling in the Dark Brotherhood, last he knew. He hoped his disappearance had made her do so.

The mage behind him murmured something, and a wave of lightening began crawling over him, sinking beneath his skin and wrestling control of his limbs from him. He barely felt it anymore, which _really_ seemed to tick off the torturers.

Eh. Today was a good day anyway. He was still in his cell.

"Tell us where the rest of you are hiding, _scum_!" Olrik roared-Which was fairly disgusting, because the man slobbered like a dog.

Cloud had always hated dogs.

In response to the man's demands, he grinned, and spat a thick glob of blood onto the man's leg. Another roar echoed through the cell, and all of a sudden, a steady stream of nothing but blood was pouring out of his throat.

Despite all of his bravado, he knew he couldn't take this much longer. He wasn't receiving any food or water, and they were steadily getting more violent. He'd already been down here for a week.

By the time he recovered from that particular beating, they were gone. Avoiding the pool of thick blood in front of him-although, all things considered, he _was_ already about as filthy as he could possibly get-and leaned against the stone wall behind him, running a hand through his grimy hair. He let a shuddery breath loose.

"Nocturnal…if you're really gonna listen to someone like me…Please…If you keep the Guild safe…I'll swear fealty to you or whatever it is your Nightingales do." His voice was low, so quiet he barely heard it. He hated how strongly it trembled.

"To do that, you will need to survive, mortal." His head jerked up at the throaty voice, and his eyes went wide. A crow sat in front of him, ebon from wingtip to beak. Onyx eyes studied him coldly, and its beak suddenly snapped open, head cocking to the side. It hoped forward, and as it did so, it _changed_. It grew, and its shape twisted, and all of a sudden his face was all but smashed into the fairly sizable breasts of a woman.

"Uh-" She moved back before he could finish, although the cloak-like slip she wore didn't really cover her, and, half-dead or not, he wasn't able to tear his eyes off of her. The hooded slip was held together by crisscrossed threads at the sides, the hood covering her hair. Chilled onyx eyes peered at him, full lips unsmiling. Despite her cold demeanor, she was very beautiful.

_Then_ he realized who she was.

"Aw damn." He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Did you not pray to me?" She said sharply, and he lifted his head.

"That wasn't why I was…..." He cut himself off when his voice cracked with disuse. Absurd he was worried about sounding like a child in front of a being who had seen thousands of years fly.

"Why would you come, anyway?" He asked, after he was certain his voice wouldn't act up. Her eyes narrowed.

"Something is about to…occur. It is in my best interest to have a pawn on the board when it happens, and you are a fairly useful pawn. I do not appear in this realm for ordinary contacts, boy. You should be flattered."

_Did she just…?_

"Um, not to say I'm grateful you answered my prayer, but…what use would a Daedra have for me?" Eyes half-closed, a cold smile lifted her lips.

"You have ties to people who will be very important at a later date. You are capable of handling what I demand of you. You are not entirely hopeless in your own skills. You have something I can use against you if you dare try to betray me. But you will not."

_Shit. _

_What in Oblivion had he just gotten himself into?_

"What do you want me to do!?" He demanded. Under any other circumstances, he'd have stood, but he was too weak to do so. The cold smile stretched lazily.

"Nothing. Your own acts will do as I want you to without interference. But the only way to reach the point where you will do that, boy…is with my blessings." He was _so_ glad he'd never been a politician. He could barely comprehend what she was saying.

"So you'll protect the Guild if I live?" He asked, the disbelief in his tone obvious. A black-nailed finger tapped his cheek, and he winced.

"You will do as I ask of you. You will obey me without question or hesitation. You will serve me, and protect my Sepulcher even in death. Do this, and I will protect your Guild. And…you will leave this place alive." She'd moved closer, finger still pressing into the bruised flesh of his cheek.

"Can I trust you?" His question was quiet, tone so frigid even her silken, throaty voice was no match.

"As long as you uphold your end. If you _do_ fail me…" A sadistic smile slowly crept across her face and she leaned forward until her lips were hovering over his.

"Torture and pleasure in my realm is not altogether that different. To please me, you may undergo tortures that will flood your body with pleasure. To pay for your failures, you may give me pleasure by being subjected to a pain I would be more than willing to inflict." Her voice was low, and extremely hypnotic. Eyes never lifting from her eyes-although they _were_ tempted-he could feel an odd cloud falling upon him, muffling his senses. He couldn't grasp the meaning of her words-they were simply sounds.

"Swear yourself to me." It was a command.

"I…swear to serve you, Lady Nocturnal." Vaguely, in some distant part of him, he was absolutely terrified by what he was doing, although he was pretty sure he had no other option. A cold smile lifted the Daedra's dark lips.

"To bind you…a contact is needed." She murmured, and without warning kissed him. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to, but the touch was brief. Another smile lifted the Daedra's mouth as she stood.

"A…taste of what would accompany you were you to refuse me. All of my little Nightingales feel it, pet."

_Oh no, Nine divines-_

The pain drowned out all sentient thought.


	5. Intro: Lae

Lae stared at the ruins of what had once been a village people had called home, children had called the entire world. Burned, singed ruins had been swallowed by a thick forest, piles of once smoldering ash now birthing green sprouts and beautiful flowers. Stone towers sagged to attention, broken puppets that a naughty child had left to the elements. The plant life shrouded walls that had once brought safety to the villages inhabitants. The gates had long ago collapsed, locks rotting without a soul to care for them. Fingers flying across her forehead, shoulders, she murmured a prayer to every deity she had ever heard of.

This place was filled with ghosts.

They followed her as her footsteps stirred up long-settled ash and dirt, as she slowly picked her way through a place that held so many memories that she had never been part of it physically hurt. Lips still forming the name of deities, she slipped through a space between two old buildings, and emerged into what had once been a clearing. Festivals had once taken place here, and she could faintly hear the sound of those ghosts as she stood where they had once danced, breathed where they had once sung.

Besides the debris from the homes and stone towers, broken arrows and skeletons littered the ground.

Hesitant, she moved forward, skipping around the first to be slaughtered by the World Eater himself, and paused in front of one of the stone towers. At its foot, what had once been an execution block rested.

Her breath caught in her throat, gaze trailing across the village of Helgen and seeing what she had never seen. The ghost of a thief running for freedom, only to be cut down. The rancid fear of prisoners sentenced to death because of the presence of one ambitious, cruel man. The beast of destruction that had lain waste to this village, saving the very soul he sought to destroy.

Her mother had learned to be cruel and heartless when needed because of Alduin.

She wondered what the World Eater felt, knowing he had struck such a fatal blow to his enemy even as she returned the stroke. Had he been afraid? Had he been grateful? Had he felt his duty complete? Had he felt he'd left something undone? Had he been flooded with regrets? Had he wished he'd had more time?

Did someone mourn him?

An arrow whizzed by her ear, sinking into the dirt beside her hand. She let out a slow sigh and stood, eyes traveling to the origins of the arrow. Clad in leather armor, a man who was obviously a bandit rose out of a stand of trees, already notching another arrow.

"You don't want to do that." Her soft voice carried across the utter silence of Helgen, but the bandit's eyes simply narrowed.

"Give me your gold and I'll let you live." His heavily accented, deep voice had much more presence than hers. A smile lifted her lips. He hadn't asked for her weapons. And he was agitating the ghosts that had once called Helgen home.

"You desecrate this grave." She said slowly, standing up. The bandit sneered at her, but his expression never wavered.

"I'll…be more than happy to teach you not to." She flung a slender steel dagger at him, and lunged to the left, drawing a sword from her belt. The bandit dodged the projectile, but fumbled with his weapon and the arrow fell to the dirt. She fell upon him in an instant, blade singing through the air towards his throat. The man looked up-for the last time.

She carefully wiped the blade clean on the bandit's armor, and then pulled the amulet she wore off of her neck, gently dropping it onto the body. As she did so, the ghosts vanished, faint memories of final moments and what had been lost vanishing from her sight. A shuddery sigh escaped her, of pain and loss and relief. That had been the first time she had ever worn an Amulet of Arkay. The only other amulet she had worn had been one of Kyne, and she remembered the glorious freedom the forest had given her. The Bosmer blood in her veins had awoken and reveled in it, and she had nearly lost herself to the wilds, as this time she had nearly lost herself to the dead. Hands shaking at what could have happened, she sheathed her blade and quickly left the ruins of Helgen.

She hurried down a worn, beaten path, knowing it would lead her to her destination.

A month since she'd started and already, she missed Pinewatch. She missed tending the Shrines there, missed conversing with the strange visitors who came to worship at the former bandit-sanctuary. Eyes scanning the surrounding land for enemies, she let out a sigh. She needed to go home, to see her mother.

And…visit old friends.

Her lips lifted into a smile, and she stretched her arms above her head. She wondered if her family would recognize her. She had cut her hair and begun binding herself-for her own safety while traveling. She still wasn't as curvy as her mother had been, and her eyes had taken on a harder glint. She wore her mother's old cloak and Dragonscale armor she had 'liberated' from a blacksmith in Whiterun. She still fought with a bow-plain ebony, none of the usual silver etchings upon its surface-and Dwarven arrows, usually coated with a poison of some sort. The only jewelry she wore was a strong metal chain with a handful of black feathers hanging from it-mementos from Melka, a Hagraven who had made her honorary kin a year or so ago. The sword at her hip was of Daedric make, enchanted with spells that would freeze an opponent from the inside out once she bothered to recharge it.

She only vaguely resembled the dark-haired child that had left Riften all those years ago, in the wake of a mother's death.

She wondered how the Guild was still doing, if her mother still kept it in shape. She wondered how her aunts, her uncles, were faring.

It was the first time she'd done so in four years.

A spasm shook the earth beneath her feet, and she dropped to all fours, wide eyes probing the sky. Dragons were a very powerful danger here-she would have taken a cart, but after the Dark Brotherhood had been chased out of their Sanctuary right beneath Falkreath, the inhabitants had grown fatally wary of any stranger who entered their small town, especially those who wore cloaks, as she did-and her heritage only made them more dangerous.

With the blood of the Dragonborn burning in her veins, a bare whisper of her soul that of a Dov, she was more likely to attract draconic attention than most.

Drawing her bow from over her shoulder and stringing an arrow, she felt the earth shudder again, and heard the approach of a Dov from ahead. She slipped behind a large tree and peaked at the road. The largest dragon she had ever seen stalked back, snuffling against the ground as its tail whipped back and forth, crashing into trees. She held her breath, hoping the Dov would not see her. She did not want to face such a massive beast. Its wings snapped out abruptly, and she flung herself to the ground, the tree she had been sheltering behind snapping like a toothpick. The roar of beating wings filled the air, wind screaming through the remains of the forest around her. She forced herself to remain still as the dragon left. Only when she was certain it had gone did she shake off the debris that had fallen upon her and hurry down the road.

She hadn't gone far before she caught the scent of death.

Against her better instincts, she followed it, expecting to see a meal left from the Dov. Instead, a ramshackle old hut sagged in an area of thin forest. Blood stained the floorboards and the opening and a door that swung freely with the wind. The remains of a body lay upon a bed absolutely bathed in red. A gust of wind blew the door shut, and she saw a scarlet handprint dried upon the wooden surface.

The Brotherhood was back.

Smiling to herself, she murmured a prayer to Sithis, before praying to every other deity she knew of.


	6. Intro: Aliyah

The shard of glass weighed much more than it should have as it rested innocently in her palm. Trembling uncontrollably, her wild eyes locked upon the object, immune to the icy wind blowing in front the broken window beside her. The suspicion clogging her throat made her feel nauseous, the horrible feeling that she was right more terrifying than anything else. Her fingers tightened around the shard, and she raised it to her arm, drawing the sharp side of it across her flesh.

Before it even broke the skin it began to dissolve into sand, so fine it vanished out of her sight the moment the wind snatched it.

The presence in the back of her mind swamped her very being, gently probing, alien and foreign. She flinched and it paused, then proceeded all the more carefully. If she would have known how to withdraw, to flee, to stop it-_anything_-she would have.

At least now she knew what it was, knew her mother had _lied_.

She glanced at the door behind her, then released a slow sigh. She had no choice. Doing her best to ignore the presence, still rooting through her mind, she slipped out of the broken window.

Winterhold's cold wind slashed through her thin shirt, and she cast a Waterbreathing spell before letting go of her window frame.

She fell from the highest tower of the Mage's College directly towards the Sea of Ghosts.

She prayed she was right, that the glass hadn't been _just_ a coincidence. The water grew ever closer, and she concentrated on breathing evenly. Just as she was about to crash into the surface of Winterhold's frigid waters, the presence snapped control away from her.

She was nothing, suddenly unaware of anything and everything. She found herself surprisingly calm, for a girl who had just attempted a near-suicide jump.

Then the world crashed into being around her, and she lay on a slab of ice, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. Shivering, she pushed herself up. She was only a few feet away from the shore.

She'd made it. She'd escaped.

She cautiously reached for the presence, felt it stiffen in surprise that she was approaching it.

_Thank you_. She tried her hardest to convey the thought to the presence, and to her surprise felt it relax. Withdrawing, she forced herself to focus, and she glanced up at the looming presence of the Mage's College.

Her home, her prison, her sanctuary, her jail.

She closed her eyes and drew a mental image of the map she had long ago memorized up, then struck south.

Whiterun was her target. It was such a normal sounding place, from what she had read, that she hoped her mother never thought to look there. She had spent hours reading about Solitude and its ghosts; Markarth and its Dwarven ruins; Riften and its Thieves Guild; Dawnstar and its rumored Dark Brotherhood-places that had filled her with wonder and ignited a sense of adventure, that she hoped her mother would look there first.

_Whiterun_…_here I come…_


	7. Intro: Aehryn

He'd never thought he'd be this grateful for his father's beatings. He'd never thought he'd be grateful at _all_ for the drunken rages, actually, but either way, it was probably the only reason he was still alive. They'd taught him to run, to endure, and most of all, how to hide. Unfortunately, hiding would have to wait until it was actually possible.

Those he had been raised calling friend and family were pursing him with a single-minded determination. They all wanted his blood, his life. As far as they were concerned, he was a blasphemous, traitorous failure.

And he was damned to Oblivion now. He couldn't forget that.

"V-Vigilante-" The child's hiccupping sob made him turn, and his blue eyes went wide. An arrow protruded out of the child's throat, steel tip glittering with scarlet blood.

Vaguely, he wondered _who's_ blood.

He paused, snapped the tip off of the arrow, and yanked it out the back of her neck. Extremely aware he was losing ground, he scooped her up and resumed running for his life. She weighed next to nothing in his arms, but he could see her jaw clamped shut.

"Try to hold on. I'll figure something out soon." He promised, although he was doubtful as to whether he'd be able to make due on it. In all likelihood, the Vigilantes would catch up with them before they made it to Morthal, and kill them.

They were running through the wilds of Falkreath hold, through a particularly dense section of forest. The forest's branches steeped over his head, and green light bathed the ground in front of them. Dawn had come a few hours ago, but no birds sang, no wildlife ran past-they could sense her. A vampire, out in broad daylight, unable to heal-accompanied by a Vigilante of Stendarr and being chased by an entire company of Vigilantes.

Maybe his mind was just wandering too much.

A guttural roar, like a cross between a dragon and a wolf, sent him diving for the underbrush. He threw himself atop the child, as something rushed towards them.

_Damn it, damn it, damn it-_

It shot past them without breaking stride. _What?_ Aehryn moved to lift his head, to uncurl from around the girl, but a shrill scream sounded and he resumed almost smothering the child.

The sound of death filled the air.

Those he had once called companions were being literally torn to shreds-the sound of muscle tearing and bone snapping and throats removed assaulted his ears. He heard no sound of a weapon being drawn or a bow twanging. Nausea flooded him, but past exposure to death kept him from retching-although, all things considering, it had never been _his_ side getting massacred. The girl went absolutely still, and he silently cursed. The scent of blood must have been getting too much.

He didn't know how long they lay there, but finally something poked his side.

"What in Oblivion are _you?"_ The voice was that of a male, slightly nasal but not annoyingly so.  
He jerked up, the girl clinging to him, although her eyes were squeezed shut. A ghostly man stood in front of him, arms folded over his chest. A dog sat at the specter's side, ears cocked.

"Well, he's _kinda_ mortal." The dog said, glancing up at the man.

He knew he'd gone insane when that _didn't_ scare him.

His gaze flicked between the two of them, aware they were both Daedra of some sort, and then went to the girl. She was in bad condition-her fangs had shattered the flesh of her lower lip and she was softly whimpering. He set her down, and crouched beside her, drawing his sword. Her eyes snapped open immediately, and he could see a thousand horrified emotions racing through them-betrayal, fear, hurt, shock, panic-but he only used it to cut his sleeve off. The child's eyes went _wider_, if that was even possible, and she began to shake her head, although she was trembling uncontrollably now. Muttering an oath she probably shouldn't hear, he drew the blade across his arm and pinned her against his chest, wound shoved against her mouth. She flailed for a second before going still, twin pains flaring from the wound.

The specter raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"You're letting a vampire feed from you? _Willingly?_ Undrugged, unthralled?_ Sober?_ Damn." Aehryn shrugged his shoulders, already feeling a lethargic haze fall over him.

"You kill me, she gets away. You don't kill me, she's fine. We get away from here, I'm still gonna die. 'N anyway, she's just a kid. She can't need that much…" He trailed off, surprised to find his speech already slurred and annoyed that he had not made much sense. The specter laughed, and the dog grinned, chuckling as well-probably at his own naivety. He tried to remain focused on them, but without warning all ten of them were running around him in circles. Then….nothing.


	8. Part One: Recruiting

The sky, blushing pink and orange, signaled dawn had come. The usually dark waters of the Sea of Ghosts had paled to a brilliant aqua for the occasion, and the white snow blanketing the Pale's land shone ivory. The sun timidly gazed across the landscape, spilling its golden grandeur upon all of Dawnstar-and one house in particular. The building was single-story, and single-roomed, derelict and in bad need of repair. There were no windows, and the boards making up the walls were crooked and missing, in some places. There was a single door to the building, too small for the doorframe yet magically keeping itself shut. Candlelight was visible through some of the building's cracks, and occasionally, flashes of movement were visible from within.

It appeared as if the sun believed that the brighter it shone upon the building, the quicker the darkness within it would flee. Watching this particular house closely through half-lidded eyes from his spot sprawled across the ground eagle-spread, Rhordric sighed. The sun wasn't going to rid this house of its curse-they were. It might as well give up trying to blind him through the small crack he was gazing through.

The house they were hiding in was falling apart just as badly as the other, floorboards mostly gone and chinks in the walls missing. It was dangerous for them here, but they had no other stake-out area available. Adept at hiding in near impossible places anyway, they were managing nicely.

They had been there since before the previous dusk, on the Night Mother's orders. She had told the Listener someone extremely powerful was ripe for recruiting here. They only had this small window of opportunity, and Rhordric was determined not to fail his Mother.

Aventus let out a deafening sigh of disgust and fell directly onto Rhordric's stomach, snatching a grunt of protest from the older assassin. From her perch on the table behind them, the Listener giggled.

"Aventus, get off of me." Rhordric said slowly, low voice barely audible. The threat in his tone was obvious, his fingertips closing around his Daedric dagger unmistakable. The younger boy ignored both warnings.

"It's been _hours_." Aventus whined, spastically flailing his arms around, narrowly missing Babette's leg. The vampire child gazed disdainfully down at both of them, although the lack of fangs in someone's body proved she wasn't annoyed.

"We're on duty, boys." The Listener sang. Rhordric experimentally poked Aventus with his blade, drawing a bit of blood from the boy's exposed neck. A growl sounded from Blade, a Khajit boy Aventus had 'liberated' from Honorhall a year ago. The cat was just as loyal to Aventus as Rhordric was to the Brotherhood and the Listener, and although he respected him, Rhordric shot Blade a flat look as Aventus got off of him.

"I think it's time." Babette said shortly. Rhordric pushed himself up, scowling at the prospect of putting his armor on. He hated hiding in front of his Family, disguising his blood and flesh as if he was ashamed of what he was. Without waiting around much longer, however, he pulled the Shrouded armor on atop his breeches. He tugged his hood down as low as it was go and waited as the others finished gathering their own things. Arms slipped around his waist, and he glanced at the Listener.

"I think you look very…mysterious like this." She said mischievously, eyes glittering. Her lips brushed his before she wandered over to Babette, smacking Aventus when the boy released a gagging sound. Rhordric only scowled at the Listener's back.

Hiding his heritage was something he had grown very used to. While the Family did not care that he was a half-breed mutt that should have died or been sent to Oblivion years ago, others did-and if this child was as powerful as the Night Mother had said she was, he had to hide until she became his Sister.

Although…it was worth it to see their look of fear when they saw what he was.

Mood only marginally better, he sheathed his blades and grabbed Aventus by the scruff of his neck, hauling the boy over his shoulder as he left the building. Carrying a silently struggling load, he slipped through dawn shadows until he arrived at the cursed home, and unceremoniously, he dropped Aventus.

He would have killed the boy if he'd made noise landing, but as always, Aventus managed to slip by without a single sound. Blade joined them with Babette, and a second later the Listener slipped past him and pushed the door open.

As one, the members of the Dark Brotherhood silently flooded inside.

The sight shocked him to the core and froze the blood in his veins.

An Imperial woman lay sprawled out on the floor, much like he had been earlier. Her throat had been cut and her face absolutely ravaged. An Imperial man laid face-down in a smoldering fireplace, blackened and burned by the flames. A bed, pushed in a small alcove-like room, was entirely saturated with blood. A dark haired-_dead_-girl lay upon it, eyes open but unseeing. A white-haired child was murmuring quietly to the body, obviously having a conversation of some sort.

It was the child that had taken him by surprise. She wore a threadbare shirt two sizes too big, short hair in a tangled mess around her head. The shirt was faded beyond recognition, and hung low on her shoulders, just as it ended by her ankles. She was extremely small and frail-looking. Her collar-bone stuck out grotesquely, as did the brand just below it-the sign of Arkay, god of death. Her turquoise eyes were intent upon her dead companion's face, and she suddenly squealed with delight, falling back upon the bed, making it clear she was quite literally soaked with blood. She was the very picture of innocence and light, even as she spotted them and clasped her scarlet hands to her knees in excitement.

"Are you here to play too?" She asked eagerly. Rhordric cast a glance at his companions. Blade was frozen, but his face gave nothing away. Aventus was gaping, Babette was preoccupied with the sheer amount of blood in the room, and the Listener was still surveying the building.

It was _always_ left to him.

"If you're willing to play with us." He prayed to Sithis his deep voice-although not as deep as Nazir's-didn't scare her.

Apparently the Dread Lord really wanted the child as his own, because her eyes only got larger with enthusiasm.

"Did you have fun here, child?" He asked softly, approaching. Her expression became sullen, and she pouted when she spoke.

"They didn't want to play with me! But now Sister will." The child added, flashing a brilliant smile at the corpse beside her. Intrigued, Rhordric yanked his glove off and held out his hand.

Babette had told him that those with special abilities could share them through touch years ago. He hoped he was right and she wasn't just as insane as Cicero.

"Will you let me see, child?" She nodded and put her tiny hand in his. Immediately the world warped.

He was again frozen, this time out of awe and wonder. He could see the ghost of the Imperial child sitting on the bed, regarding him quietly. Long, straight dark hair framed her drawn face and narrow green eyes.

Without warning the vision vanished, and a second later, he felt cool air on his face. He blinked slowly, realizing the child had pushed his hood off. As he had been crouching beside the bed and she now stood on it, they were now eye-to-eye. He saw something within her turquoise orbs that he recognized, and unconsciously, he let out a muffled cursed.

She was half-Dremora too.

Her smile was larger than the Listener's when she succeeded in getting Cicero drunk.

"I didn't know I had a brother!" She exclaimed, arms flinging around his neck. Stunned, he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her and stood, for the first time in his entire life at an absolute loss at what to do. He glanced at the others. Everyone but Babette looked surprised, but that could have been because the vampire was licking blood off of her fingers, a blissful look on her face.

"Do you want to go home with us?" The Listener asked. The child leaned away from him, hands braced against his shoulders. Her expression was fierce.

"I'm going with Brother!" She declared. Aventus grinned.

"Welcome to the family, Sister." Blade murmured.


	9. Part One: Rescue

She could feel the eyes of the Orc on her as she read, book in her lap, legs resting upon the other side of the cart. Still disguised as a boy, she kept her head down and posture at ease as her eyes skimmed the words. Chance's Folly. Her mother had used the book as a lesson when she was small, telling her that the best thieves returned kindness and punished evil and retained their honor, even in the face of death.

Absurd or not, Blacke's ideals had changed the Thieves Guild from the core out. It was a haven for the homeless beggars of Riften, as in turn the beggars gave them information and warned of attacks by Riften's guards. They stole from all but their allies and it wasn't unusual for a thief to place a person beneath their protection. Mercy was their reputation, fear their weapon. All thanks to the Dragonborn.

She carefully marked her page and closed it, sliding it into her knapsack. Her gaze rose calmly to meet the Orc's dark eyes.

Both of them stiffened at the same time.

She recognized the Orc's armor. He was a Summerset Shadow. And he could see the Shadowmark tattooed onto her throat.

He shot to his feet, drawing a wicked-looking sword from his belt even as she drew her own Daedric sword. The cart ground to a halt, and she nimbly dropped over the side before the driver could begin panicking. The Summerset Shadow was not as lucky.

They'd always been inferior to the Thieves Guild-in every way.

She stretched her arms above her head as the Orc fell to the floor of the cart. As he scrambled to his feet, she laughed softly.

Without the influence of an amulet-whether she was just down the road from Riften or not-she couldn't _wait_ for a fight. Ignoring the shouts of the carts' driver, the Orc jumped out of the cart, two daggers bared.

She couldn't help but let a giggle escape her. As the Dragonborn's daughter, she knew a skilled opponent when she saw one, and this Orc was so barely trained it was laughable.

"Why would the Shadows send an amateur to the Guild?" She asked, face entirely earnest.

She knew her expression had put the Orc off. She enjoyed fighting, and had no qualms when it came to torturing others. She'd already decided to let the Orc live-after he told her why he was here. And…maybe she'd teach him a thing or two about fighting.

"I'm not here with the Shadows!" He barked. His limbs were quavering, eyes wide.

For an Orc, he was looking particularly afraid.

"Then why are you here?" She asked, clasping her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels.

"We were attacked-they were all killed. I didn't know where else to go and, rivals or not, the Guild had to be warned!" He spoke rapidly, although he didn't drop his arms. She was impressed. He was stupid, inexperienced, but he was brave.

"And I should believe you?" She asked, keeping her tone amused. He scrambled for a bag and yanked out a blood-stained garment she recognized instantly. There was a similar one on the mannequin at her mother's house-the armor of the Shadow's leader. She frowned, and let out a noncommittal noise. Either he was going to elaborate depths to trick his way into the Guild, or he was telling the truth.

Her instincts said he was telling the truth. And she'd learned long ago to never doubt her instincts.

"Did you come to join the Guild?" She asked, tilting her head. Looking extremely helpless, the Orc shrugged.

"The Shadows were entirely wiped out-I only survived because I was in Markarth on a job. When I got back everyone was dead. I am not a fighter. The Shadows were angry with me because I didn't kill on my jobs, and the credit went to the Guild. I can't go to a Stronghold because I left in dishonor. I don't know what will happen to me." The Orc said. For all his intimidating appearance and being a thief, he was honest, trusting.

It was beyond her how he'd made it this far.

She tapped her finger against her lip, thinking. She could use the Orc. As a decoy, possibly, but if he was as good as he claimed…The Guild could use him as well.

"Follow me." She ordered, lifting her pack over her shoulder. The Orc's eyes widened, but he obeyed, scrambling to shove the garment back in his back and sling it over his shoulder. She tossed a bag of septims to the cart's driver, giving him a cold gaze as he glared at her.

His bluster faded immediately as he grabbed the bag.

The Orc caught up to her, as Riften's gates loomed ahead of them, peering out from between birch trees. She stretched her arms, breathing in the scent of home.

Riften, the bed of sin and seed of corruption of Skyrim. Everything that had ever been outlawed could be found upon Riften's streets, every illegal commodity imaginable. Except for slaves. Even the lawless had standards, and slavery crossed that line. She found it amusing when slave dealers ignorant of that arrived. Even the Guild allowed blood to spill when it came to slave dealers.

"Oi!" She blinked in surprise, and realized they were at the gates. She tilted her head at the guard, who was scrutinizing her closely.

"Who're you?" The guard asked, eyes narrowed.

"Most people know me as the Priestess." She finally said. The guard's eyes grew round and he hastily stepped back out of her way. With a faint smile, she walked through Riften's open gates, the Orc gaping behind her.

"The _Priestess?_" He demanded, voice hoarse. She elbowed him as eyes glanced in their direction, steering him towards what at first glance appeared to be a pile of trash.

"Yes. Now, shut up unless you enjoy the taste of metal." His jaw snapped shut.

"Ah…Lae. I almost didn't recognize you." The voice that sounded from the pile was anything but that of a beggar. She settled down beside the speaker, heedless of the refuse around her.

"It's been a while, Uncle Delvin." She murmured. A bright eye gleamed at her from beneath a mask of filth.

"Glad you're back, eh? Knew someone was comin', been waitin' here for a bit." The older man murmured.

"What happened?"

"Your cousin's missin'. Been gone for…two weeks, now. Guard's've been tighter 'n Vex's laces." She pulled a face at the comparison, drawing to mind the pale-haired woman she considered family.

"Got a new Captain, he's…Your mother's been thinkin' about contacting the Brotherhood." He said hesitantly, eyes burning into hers.

Her blood ran cold. She stood, murmured a tight 'thanks' to her uncle, grabbed the Orc's wrist, and dragged him into Riften's depths, headed towards Mistveil Keep.

Blacke was dead, buried and serving Nocturnal at the Sepulcher. Delvin meant Sapphire.

Her mothers had been as different as night and day. Blacke, named after her dark hair and eyes, Sapphire, named after her kleptomaniac obsession with sapphires. Blacke was fairly sadistic, Sapphire refused to hurt anyone-other than Mercer, when he'd been alive. For her to call the Brotherhood….

And now Cloud was in danger.

She did not think of him as her cousin. He was her brother in every sense of the word but blood, and one of her closest friends. Vex's son, he had no idea who his father was, as she did. They'd been stuck together as training partners when they were young. He had been the one to draw her out of her serious moods. He was wild, impulsive, reckless-an absolute nightmare for his mother. He was quick with a smile, quicker with his blade. He had a crude sense of humor, courtesy of Delvin, but knew when to keep quiet.

"Where are we going?" The Orc snapped. She glanced back at him.

"Riften's jail."

"Why?!"

"You want safety, a place to exist. You help me do this, and I'll open the Guild's doors to you."

"And you have that power? You're a member, sure, but you're the _Priestess!_" He hissed back. She jerked him behind a pillar in front of the Keep, eyes narrowing.

"My mother is current Guildmaster, my late mother previous Guildmaster. You're going to help me rescue my brother if you want to so much as dream of getting into the Guild." The Orc's eyes looked as if they were about to fall from his skull. He nodded quickly.

"Good. Now come on." She said sharply, slipping through the shadows surrounding the jail's door and into the complex. It was terrifyingly easy, few guards at their stations, lax security, doors left swinging open to the breeze, spells removed, locks unlocked.

It was a trap if she ever saw one.

No one saw her or the Orc as they snuck into an empty storeroom, filled with various empty bookshelves and cupboards and counters.

"Why are we in here?" The Orc hissed, eyes darting around.

"The jail itself is entirely beneath the Guild's control. If Cloud's missing and the Captain's the cause, his holding cell will be hidden. And best be in a place thieves won't dare to look, hmm?" She murmured, searching through a thin layer of dust for tracks.

A tiny splotch of blood stained a corner of one of the cupboards.

The Orc spotted it at the same moment, and tensed.

"This is much too easy."

"I'm aware. Come on. Nocturnal guide us." She added absently, drawing raised eyebrows from the Orc.

It took the two of them to move the cupboard silently, and lifted the heavy iron grate it hid. The stench of death and waste and blood was horrible, but to the Orc's credit, he handled it better than she did.

A ladder led straight down, and sharing a wary glance, they slipped down it. It led to a small alcove that opened into a room that would have put the Dark Brotherhood's torture room to shame, something told her. Thing she barely had words for hung from the ceiling and rested on the ground, many of which she was entirely unfamiliar with. Long counters cluttered with poisons and other potions flanked the walls. Lae let her fingers snatch most of the potions and all of the poisons from the counters before she headed down a long dark hallway-the only other way to go. She passed cell after cell that proved bare, until she reached the last cell.

A figure leaned against a wall, naked. Male, legs skewed at odd angles and what little skin visible pale and drawn. He was caked in blood and filth, alarming bloodstains painting the floor and walls around him. His hands rested in his laps, fingers bleeding and twisted in ways they weren't supposed to be. His hair was plastered to his head, eyes sunken and face gaunt.

The Orc vomited behind her.

"Morning already?" He rasped. She'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Cloud?" She asked softly, fingers already popping the lock off of the cell door.

He reeked, and he was so dirty he barely looked human. She hugged him, ignoring all of that. The Orc entered after a moment, and she moved away so he could lift Cloud up. She pulled off her cloak and wrapped Cloud in it beforehand, his thin frame swallowed by its folds.

"She wasn't lying, was she?" Cloud asked, voice slurred. Lae frowned at him, but led the way out of the dungeon, and then the jail.

Nocturnal must have been very interested in her brother.

"Get out of here, Orc. Take him to the Ragged Flagon-I know you know where it is, the Shadows did not make good spies-and just start shouting. If they try to kill you tell them Lae sent you." She said sharply, drawing her blade as she pushed him towards a random alley.

"And what about you?!" The Orc demanded.

"Get my brother to safety. I picked the lock-whatever spell was on that door attached to me. I'm going to divert their attention."

"You're gonna sacrifice yourself." The Orc said, after a pause.

"No. I'm going to exact revenge. Now go."

He gave her a long look, then vanished with Cloud. She watched until they were gone. Daedric blade twirling lightly in her hand, she headed towards the last place the guards would ever think to look. They'd pay for their crimes.


	10. Part One: Allies

When he opened his eyes, he didn't quite grasp what he saw. A ghostly dog lay curled against a fire pit consisting only of glowing embers. A thin man with messy brown hair sat on a fallen log beside it, also slightly spectral. A scowling Redguard woman-definitely _not_ a ghost-sat beside him, a strange horned mask resting on her lap. Something slammed into his chest, and he uttered a groan, curling like a dead spider.

"Why did you do that?! I could have killed you!" A high-pitched voice cried, hiccupping. He blinked, mentally screamed at himself for being so underprepared, then recognized the voice as the vampire child's.

"Stendarr's mercy, you're going to kill me doing that!" He swore, pushing the girl off as he sat up. She clung to his chest anyway, soaking his tunic with her tears. He sighed, glancing at his arm. A pale crescent-shaped scar was the only reminder of what had occurred. Other than her crying, of course.

"You didn't contract it, if you're wondering." He glanced up and saw the woman with the mask staring at him.

"Contract…?" He repeated, not grasping what the woman was talking about. He glanced at the child, and realized what she was talking about. Vampirism.

"Oh…Alright."

"Didja get into the skooma, kid?" The ghostly man demanded. He looked up at him, frowning.

"No."

"Then what's your problem?!"

"Vile, sit your ass back down. You're scaring him. Barbas, _sit!_"

_…Vile? Barb-_

"Nine Divines, why did you save me?!" Aehryn demanded, scrambling to his feet. The full force of what had just happened slammed into him.

He'd betrayed the Vigilantes. Saved a vampire. _Fed_ a vampire. Been saved by a _Daedric Lord!_

His father was going to slaughter him. Before, it had just been killing. Now, the man was going to tear him to shreds. He was definitely damned now, if by some miracle he hadn't been before.

"You risked your neck to save a vampire. Barbas here likes vampires, and Vile's taken a personal interest in you. Otherwise you'd just hear a disembodied voice." The woman said, stretching. Her teeth were startlingly white against her dark skin. She had short, spiky, black hair that clung to her scalp, high cheekbones and dark chocolate eyes. Her nose had obviously been broken before, and a thin scar stretched across her brow. She appeared elegant, and very dangerous.

Clavicus Vile on the other hand, was the opposite. There was no color to his figure, but he appeared to have taken the form of an Imperial. He wore rumpled clothing and his hair was messy, as if he had just rolled out of bed. He wore Daedric armor over his wrinkled clothing, all of it lop-sided and half-buckled. Clavicus was, without a doubt, the most shabby looking Daedric Lord he had ever seen. Although admittedly, he was the only one Aehryn had ever seen.

Barbas looked just like any other mutt, save the fact he was see-through and could talk.

"Amusement. It was either save you or torture your soul for an eternity, which any self-respecting Daedra would do. I'd be thanking me, rather than yelling." Vile added, sounded miffed.

Aehryn massaged his temples, closing his eyes.

"Unbelievable." He muttered.

"Hey!" Barbas barked. He opened his eyes slowly, mentally checking himself for weapons. He had none on him-he assumed the woman had taken them.

"What?" He asked, voice cold. The dog seemed to scowl at him.

"What's your name?" Vile asked, propping his chin on his hands.

"Aehryn…"

"I'm Talya, Clavicus Vile's champion. This is, as you know, Clavicus Vile and his best friend Barbas." The woman said, glancing at the Daedra beside her.

"I'm Lily." The little vampire declared, still hugging his chest. Aehryn looked at her, suddenly realizing just how much trouble they were in.

"The Vigilantes will know we're headed towards Morthal….They'll kill us the moment we set foot in Hjaalmarch. The only man who knows how to cure vampirism lives there." He mumbled, glancing up at Talya as laughter cut him off. The Redguard woman was lying on her back in the dirt, Clavicus Vile coughing violently in a futile attempt to hide his own laughter.

"How in Oblivion is this _funny?_" He snapped, standing. Lily released him and sat on the ground, frowning as she stared at the adults.

"It's…." Talya couldn't finish her sentence.

"What's wrong with them?" Lily asked, staring wide-eyed at Barbas.

"When I had Talya gain Vile's favor so I could return to his side, she cleared out a nest of vampires. When she first met Vile, he told her they'd been praying to him for a cure and she'd solved the problem nicely." The dog said, yawning.

"Sarcastically?" Lily asked, brow furrowing.

"Yup."

"Oh." Lily breathed, shoulders slumping.

Aehryn could have smacked himself. Instead he located a pile of belongings and shifted through it until he found his weapons, a Skyforge steel sword he had saved up for years to buy and a summoning staff. By the time he had strapped his sword to his side and the staff to his back, Talya and Vile had recovered.

"Where are you going?" Clavicus Vile demanded, scowling.

"To get her cured." He said shortly, glancing at Lily. The vampire child scrambled to her feet, nodding excitedly.

"Who turned you?" Vile asked suddenly. The temperature dropped about twelve degrees. Lily's smile vanished, eyes growing haunted. She seemed to draw herself in, to make herself smaller.

Aehryn recognized that look.

"Hey…Come here." He said softly, crouching. She stared at him for a second before bolting into his arms, and he lifted her up as he straightened.

"I won't let them hurt you, alright?" He murmured. She buried her face against his shoulder, nodding.

"We're going with you!" Talya declared, jumping to her feet. Aehryn frowned at her.

"Why?"

"Because I said so! And…I'm her boss!" Vile declared, not moving. Talya drew the horned helmet she'd been holding over her head, and a tension he hadn't known she'd been carrying seemed to drain from her.

Aehryn realized he had absolutely no say in the matter. It wasn't like he was strong enough to stop a Daedric Lord, and he'd seen the spell books and weapons of Talya's in the pile. Even the dog was probably more powerful than he was, and he was one of the best swordsmen the Vigilantes had. Well, _had_ had.

"If you hurt her, I'm going to kill you." He said finally. The threat wasn't empty on his part. If they hurt Lily he'd die trying. Vile laughed, then began ordering Barbas around. Talya frowned at him and approached.

"You make no mention of your own life." She said, folding her arms across her chest. Aehryn smiled a twisted smile, shifting Lily in his arms.

"I forfeited my life before I went on this patrol. If I hadn't helped Lily and gotten back to the Hall, I wouldn't have lived long anyway. At least this way, I'm dying for a reason."

And that was it. The secret he had been denying since he'd managed to escape on patrol.

He'd risen his blade in defense against his father. He'd had enough of the beatings, let the rage he'd always carried explode. Told the larger man if he tried to hit him again, Aehryn would run him through. He'd been honest then, but he still hadn't slept that night, holed up in a cave not far from the Hall. He'd returned in the morning and been grabbed by Keeper Mary.

"Stendarr wasn't enough?" She asked dryly, an obvious attempt at lightening the mood. He decided it would be best to comply.

"What in Oblivion killed the company, anyway?" He asked, recalling the violence. A slow grin worked its way across Talya's face.

"Barbas, my Bosmer friend. Never anger a Daedra's dog." She said cheerfully, walking over to her stuff. It was nearly black already, but Aehryn wasn't concerned. Lily wasn't asleep-she was humming to herself-and vampires were notorious for their night vision.

And even if she did fall asleep, they had Clavicus Vile.

**[Alright, I apologize. I forgot to post Aehryn's intro, so I had to go and fix it! I'm really sorry for any confusion, I'll do my best not to do so again!]**


	11. Part One: Stranger

Aphra flinched as a moan of agony echoed around the cave they lay in. She hated seeing Xoatholin in pain, and it was quite obvious that even the dim light that filtered in from the ceiling pained him.

He was better than he had been when he'd first burst out of the Dwemer ruins, but it was still bad. Then, he had dissolved into nothing more than agony. Luckily for her, his roars had scared away a pair of hunters, and she'd managed to gather up all of their pelts. She'd been able to fashion a blindfold of a tent covering, padded with as many pelts as she could fit into it. She'd taken it off once they'd found the cave, but it was _night_ and he was still in pain.

It would have been cold if Xoatholin hadn't been radiating heat, keeping the cave at a tolerable temperature. They'd emerged into a land made of ice and snow, somewhere she was entirely unfamiliar with. It was not where she had first entered Blackreach with Xoatholin's grey egg-her instructions had been fine as they fled out of Blackreach's depths and into the higher levels of Dwemer ruins, but after they'd entered those higher levels, she'd been entirely lost. Xoatholin had followed a trail of unfamiliar scent and by some miracle they'd made it out. After padding his eyes they had traveled until they'd reached this small cave, something she was grateful for. Xoatholin was used to flying in tight, cramped areas, gliding and jumping from item to item. Not soaring through a massive, empty expanse of sky filled with snow.

It had been stressful, to say the least.

"Aphra…Where are we?" Xoatholin whispered. She looked up from her thoughts and stood, walking over to him.

"I think we're somewhere between the Pale and Winterhold, but I'm not entirely certain. If we were to head north, we'd find the Sea of Ghosts and maybe Dawnstar, depending on where we are." She regretted the words as soon as they came out. Xoatholin knew nothing of Skyrim's locations other than what she'd told him, which wasn't much.

She was relieved when he simply nodded, wincing at the movement.

"Where should we go, then?" A pregnant pause filled the air.

"I don't know. I'm sure there's some ruins we can find somewhere close by but-" A soft sound made her stop and both of them stood quickly. Aphra slowly moved towards the cave's entrance, feeling Xoatholin move carefully behind her. She kept her side pressed tightly against the stone as she poked her head outside.

It felt strange to see another Mer after so many years seeing only Xoatholin and the occasional Falmer, and she regarded the elf in front of her curiously. She was half Altmer, her skin bearing only a subtle trace of the usual golden sheen typical for a High Elf. Fine blonde hair clung to the girl's face, veiling pale green eyes. Her clothing was entirely impractical for the weather-she wore a dress and her feet were bare. She was crying, though, and Aphra carefully dropped into a sitting position, heedless of the snow, and reached a hand out.

The girl flinched away violently.

"Don't-It will hurt you." The girl whispered, drawing herself into a small ball. Xoatholin shifted uneasily.

Aphra had made it clear to him anyone else who saw him would try to hurt him-his kind were not appreciated in the lands of Skyrim. Yet this girl had seen him, and remained entirely unafraid of his presence.

"What will?" Aphra asked softly, using the voice she'd used when Xoatholin had woken screaming from nightmares of unbridled violence and horror as a fledgling.

The girl's jaw tightened and she shook her head, but after a few moments, she spoke.

"You have to promise not to hurt me. For it to go." She whispered. Aphra took it in stride, nodding.

"We won't hurt you. Xoatholin's friendly. The cave is warm-well, warmer than out here. Come in." She urged. The girl hesitated a moment longer, then tentatively took Aphra's offered hand. The Bosmer helped the girl up and smiled at her, pulling her into the cave.

"What's your name?" Aphra asked quietly. Everything she did was quiet, soundless to any save the inhabitants of sunless places. The girl seemed to sense there was a purpose in the silence and kept her voice low.

"Aliyah."

"I am Aphra. This is Xoatholin." The girl studied the dragon for a moment.

"You don't look like other dragons. Are you blind?"

"Yes." Xoatholin responded hesitantly, raising his voice until it was what he considered a shout. The girl barely heard him.

"Do you know where we are, Aliyah?" Aphra asked, settling beside Xoatholin as the dragon curled up again. Aliyah hesitated before shrugging.

"Vaguely. We're somewhere near the Dwemer ruins of Alftand." She said. Xoatholin lifted his head up and spoke.

"Is that where you entered, Aphra?" He asked. She stifled a smile. He'd always bugged her about how she'd managed to get into Blackreach without dying-she'd been a child, defenseless and unarmed with a fragile egg. She credited to luck, but after seeing how easily the Dwemer had retaken Blackreach, she'd begun to think differently.

After all, what better a tool to destroy hordes of Falmer and their like than a dragon? Especially a small blind one with no ability to Shout…One easily taken care of afterwards.

"No. We entered somewhere between the Rift and Eastmarch…But, what are you doing so far away from a city? You're not dressed for travel."

Aliyah shifted uncomfortably for a moment, then looked up at them.

"I'm running. My mother would search the roads first, so I couldn't travel on them." She murmured.

"Why…?" Aphra cut herself off abruptly. She didn't want to press matters with the girl, the stranger. There was something unnatural, almost artificial about her-perhaps in the way that, when her head turned to a certain angle and light caught her eyes just right, they appeared as flat disks of gold. Whatever Aliyah feared, whoever she'd been speaking about earlier, Aphra had a feeling it wouldn't appreciate questions.

As she'd expected, Aliyah didn't respond.

But the golden glint reappeared.


End file.
